Surrogate
by Alory Shannon
Summary: One-shot. Slight crack. Konan’s long-dormant maternal instincts find an outlet in an unlikely source.


There was never the slightest doubt in anyone's mind, least of all her own, that Konan was totally, utterly, unswervingly loyal to Pein. She was his messenger, his constant companion, his sole partner. Out of all the members of Akatsuki, she was indisputably the only one whom Pein trusted completely, and she was entirely deserving of that trust. The word _committed_ was an understatement; it barely scratched the surface of the overwhelming devotion she placed in him, the steadfast dedication with which she served him. _His_ existence was the reason for _her_ existence; of that she was certain.

But Pein was a god of violence, of war and bloodshed, cold as steel, ungraspable as the rain he called down; he was not a god of love or warmth, and he had none of those things to offer, not even for his most devoted follower. Konan accepted this unblinkingly--she was neither childish nor naïve, and little enough warmth remained within her as well--but at times she couldn't help but contemplate what might have been had she chosen a different path, had she devoted herself to a man rather than a god.

Such thoughts had the uncomfortable habit of surfacing when least desired and least expected, and this time was no different.

That morning had begun unremarkably enough; Pein had called her to him shortly before dawn, a routine occurrence, and given her his orders for the day.

"I sent Itachi and Kisame along with Sasori to pick up his new partner. They should be arriving with him later this morning. Look him over and tell me what you think," Pein had bidden her, and she was as always wont to obey.

And so she settled herself at the table in a little room off the main entrance hall, a cup of tea at her elbow and a book and a thick stack of paper in front of her; she didn't know how long she might be waiting, and as the minutes slipped by and stretched and linked themselves into one hour, then two, then more, she was glad of the diversions.

It was the steady, mechanical click of Hiruko's joints that alerted her to their return; Itachi moved more noiselessly than the shadow of the wind, of course, and Kisame's tread was almost incongruously soft for his daunting size. The final member of their party was also light on his feet, or at least was not so obvious that he made himself heard over the rhythmic clacking of puppet-joints.

She waited for them to pass and then turn the corner down the hall before following, leaving book, paper animals, and empty tea cup behind without a backwards glance. On reaching that corner, she paused, listening to Hiruko's continued movement and gauging the group's position before stepping forward, looking into the main lounge a little ways down the hall, getting her first look at their newest conscript.

Konan's first thought on seeing him was that he was undoubtedly the _youngest_ full-fledged member she could ever remember Pein recruiting; her second and third were that his hair was quite a lovely shade of burnished gold, and that he certainly would have made a charming little girl.

She kept these observances to herself, of course, watching silently from the heavily shadowed hallway as the child took in his surroundings.

He glanced around the room, eyes darting everywhere at once though his head didn't turn more than a fraction throughout the process. He was good, Konan admitted to herself as he rapidly finished his inspection of the main lounge.

And then the boy did something unexpected: he turned his head and looked back down the hallway, straight at her. The action was quick but deliberate, and Konan felt a flicker of surprise as she met his gaze--those eyes looked distinctly out of place, too old, too hard for someone whose face was still rounded with the typical chubby-cheeked look of a preadolescent.

"Come along, brat," Sasori snapped irritably from inside Hiruko, the tank-like puppet already halfway across the room, heading for another of the many hallways that branched off the honeycombed walls of the main lounge. Instead of instant obedience, the child held her gaze a moment longer, his expression inscrutable; then he turned and vanished down the hall after his partner with a flick of dirty blonde hair.

It was then that she decided to do a bit of research on their newest member.

That was easy enough to accomplish: being second in command _did_ have its perquisites, such as possession of a complete set of keys and access to all the personnel records. According to the file Pein had on him, the boy's name was Deidara, and he was twelve, nearly thirteen, though that age didn't really seem to fit; his scrawny frame made him look much younger, but his eyes held the steady, steely glint of a true shinobi--someone who had seen too much, and done even more. And if the information in his file concerning his past missions was accurate, then he was deserving of those eyes, as well as the ring on his finger and the black-and-red cloak (which she knew would be several sizes too large, and would either have to be trimmed down or hemmed and grown into). The file had a long list--two and half pages' worth, double columns, single-spaced, small print--of buildings that he'd bombed and targets that he'd successfully assassinated; when he was given a job, it was carried out with flair and perfection, and judging by the photos and a few newspaper clippings that included pictures of the aftermath, in terms of simple, sheer destructive force, he was probably the most formidable member of Akatsuki. It was no small wonder that Pein had wanted him for the organisation.

* * *

Three days passed, regular and uneventful, before Konan had her second encounter with the blonde boy.

The night was growing old as she went to get herself another cup of tea--she didn't need much sleep, and she enjoyed the quiet of the late night and early morning hours, so she was often the only one up--only to find the kitchen already occupied. Deidara was sitting alone at the table, fiddling with a bit of clay, his bare feet swinging nearly a foot off the floor. He had dark, bruise-coloured circles under his eyes, and his hair and clothes looked a little bed-mussed, but his eyes were sharp and alert nonetheless. He glanced up as she stepped into the kitchen, his hands and the mouths in his palms still working the clay in front of him absently as he locked eyes with her.

They exchanged wary looks for a few long moments, each seeming to measure the other on some unfathomable scale; then Konan calmly turned her attention to getting the desired cup of tea and her back on the boy--something of a dangerous move, perhaps, but one that made it clear that she thought herself more than capable of putting him in his place if he tried to challenge her. He didn't (she would have heard the telltale rustle of cloth and whisper of movement, would have sensed him coming at her), but she could feel his eyes on her back the entire time she went about preparing her drink.

It was rather vexing, to be honest, so while the tea leaves seeped, she half-turned to meet his gaze once more, feeling a faint trace of surprise (which didn't come close to touching her expression) as she allowed herself a second, longer look at the boy. Deidara's bearing was noticeably different now than it had been when she'd seen him in the hallways before: then he'd looked strong, confident, utterly sure of himself despite his youth, perhaps even a bit angry; now he simply looked small and weary, a trace of the hunted in his eyes, like a wild animal backed into a corner, but still determined, still defiant despite the sudden change in his surroundings. But even that defiance did little to mask his age at the moment--he just looked so _young,_ so fragile, like the child he truly was rather than the ruthless killer he'd been raised to be.

…Something about that, something about the disheveled hair and the eyes that almost looked too big for his face and the wan cast to his ruddy skin tugged on something in her chest--something innate, something with roots far deeper than her personal pride or her sense of duty or even her devotion to Pein: a nurturing, maternal instinct.

Without even really taking the time to think about it, the blue-haired kunoichi unlocked one of the lower cabinets, reaching behind stacked cans and boxes, finally coming up with a package of cookies.

The boy blinked as she set both the cookies and a mug full of cold milk on the table in front of him, then turned a dark look up at her. _"Don't_ treat me like a little kid, yeah."

There might have been a hint of a threat in those words, but Konan had already turned her back on him again by the time he finished saying them, so they had about as much of an effect as a wave breaking against sea-cliffs: a puff of fluff and foam, then they were gone. When she turned back, tea in hand, the boy was too busy stuffing cookies into his mouths (all three of them) to concern himself with anything else, and his preoccupation with the food allowed her to get her first good close-up look at him.

His eyes, she noted as she settled herself across from him, were brilliant shade of pale blue that almost seemed to glow, even in the cave's poor lighting, and were fringed about with dark, thick lashes that no blonde had any right to have. They were surprisingly feminine for such a rough-edged child, yet somehow they didn't seem out of place.

There was really no mistaking him for a girl at this range. While there was a certain delicacy to the exotic tilt of his eyes and his smooth, high cheekbones, there was also something about his face, the sharp angle of his eyebrows perhaps, or the firm set of his mouth and jaw, that gave him a decidedly masculine quality.

His table manners, or rather the lack thereof, might've also had something to do with her conclusion; he was putting those cookies away like he hadn't eaten in days--which, Konan realised, might very well have been the case. Sasori didn't need to eat, and no one else would have been checking up on 'the new kid', so it was entirely possible that this was his first meal since his arrival three days before.

Or maybe he was just always endlessly hungry, as boys his age tended to be. The thought almost made her smile faintly, something she'd not done in years, and oddly enough, she suddenly found herself wanting to refill his barely-touched glass of milk and offer him something else to eat instead of just cookies, something with more substance.

_Strange,_ she thought, reflexively quashing down the unusual impulse. _And unnecessary._

Nonetheless she continued to sit and silently observe him as she sipped her tea; only after he'd finally stopped cramming cookies into his mouths, his ravenous, near-desperate rate of consumption slowing to a steady munching, did she speak. "It's very late. Why are you not in your quarters?"

The blonde gave a snort as he bit into another cookie. _"Master_ Sasori kicked me out of the room," he said around the mouthful. "He said I was breathing too loudly in my sleep, yeah."

That explained the circles under his eyes, especially if this wasn't the first night he'd been run out of his room; it was late, but it wasn't _that_ late, so he couldn't have gotten much sleep, and a kid like this one obviously knew better than to let himself doze off in a location as full of potential threats as the Akatsuki cave. He must have sat up most of the past two nights as well.

Once the package of cookies was empty and he'd drained the glass of milk, the boy turned his attention back to the lump of clay he'd been playing with before. Konan watched as he broke off bits of it, feeding it into his hand-mouths, then molded the more pliable clay into an animal or abstract shape before carelessly flattening the figure and starting again. He didn't seem to mind her presence--most likely he was enjoying the attention--and after a time, he glanced up at her, seeking some response to his artwork, be it scorn or admiration. Finding neither seemed to displease him, and he searched her blank features more closely, his eyes flicking to the paper rose in her hair; his next few clay figures were clearly plant-based.

He'd only partially completed a chain of pretty little bell-shaped flowers when an almost alarmingly wide yawn forced him to pause. Konan, who'd noted his eyes growing visibly heavier over the past half-hour, quietly stated the obvious.

"You are tired."

It seemed to take considerable effort for Deidara to narrow his heavy-lidded eyes, and the end result was a great deal more bleary than it was belligerent. "…Maybe," he said, rubbing at his eyes with an air of irritation. "So what? Can't go back to my room, yeah."

She considered him for a moment, then gave a minute nod. "Very well. You may sleep in my quarters."

A sort of startled indignation, and perhaps a tinge of embarrassment, instantly flooded the boy's face. "No way, yeah!"

Konan tilted her head just slightly, the only outward indication of her curiosity. "You have nothing to fear from me. I will not harm you. Pein does not wish it. He still has use for you."

His look of awkward discomfort only intensified, as did the gleam of distrust in his gaze; his hands moved almost automatically over the clay in front of him, destroying the half-finished flowers and forming a pair of some kind of beetle instead.

"It would be safer," Konan went on calmly, unperturbed by either Deidara's reaction or the very real danger his clay creatures represented. "At least this way you will be out of the open."

The boy wavered, still looking suspicious and more than a little uncomfortable about the offer, but after having to force back another jaw-popping yawn, he gave a reluctant nod. Palming the beetle sculptures, he slid out of his chair to follow her down the winding passages to her quarters.

Konan's quarters appeared more spacious than most, though that could have been largely due to the utilitarian nature of their occupant; the usual trinkets and homey decorations favoured by so many women were almost entirely absent, the walls, table, and dresser bare save for a simple hanging scroll or two, a few small stacks of books, and a bag of cosmetics. A small herd of origami creatures was clustered on her desk, and a few random pieces of paper, both folded and unfolded, coloured and plain, littered a majority of the room's flat surfaces, but it was otherwise neat and clean.

Deidara had scanned the room on entering, his attention focusing almost immediately on the origami, which he seemed unable to resist picking up and peering at closely. Konan allowed this curiosity until he started unfolding one; at that, a nearby paper crane moved to give his hand a sharp peck, causing him to drop the partly-unfolded butterfly with a wordless exclamation of surprise.

Konan gave him a look of warning as she seated herself in a chair across the room, and the remaining paper creatures moved back away from the blonde. "Sleep," she said, the word quiet but firm, just shy of being an order.

For a moment she felt certain that he would argue, but another ferocious yawn seemed to change his mind; without another word he flopped down on the bed, propping himself up on the pillows at its head and crossing his arms over his chest with a small measure of the defiance he'd shown in the kitchen earlier.

She'd half expected him to sit there and scowl at her the rest of the night, still too mistrustful of her to risk sleep, but fatigue finally overwhelmed him; a quarter of an hour later found him slumped sideways on the bed, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Konan, already focused on her reading, paid him little mind at first--he proved to be a quiet sleeper, neither snoring nor talking in his sleep, and while he might very well have been a restless sleeper under normal circumstances, for the moment he was far too deeply under to do more than curl up on his side, burrow his face into a pillow, and stay that way. After a time, though, she found her gaze inexplicably drawn towards the bed; before she knew it, she'd silently risen and crossed the room, and found herself looking down at the sleeping child.

He looked even younger now, more innocent and vulnerable, the usual guarded, jaded expression abandoned in sleep, those all-too-experienced eyes closed, hidden from view, his golden hair falling over his face, fluttering a bit with each near-silent breath that slipped in and out of his narrow, bony little chest.

The slightest of smiles turned one corner of her mouth as that feeling of warm, motherly concern she'd felt before stirred once again, stronger and more insistent this time. Obeying its direction, she covered him with the extra blanket folded across the bottom of the bed, carefully tucking it around his shoulders and making sure his bare feet weren't still exposed to the dank chill that settled through the cave at this hour; she only just resisted the urge to brush his hair back out of his face as well.

Looking after him like this was…satisfying, she found with mild surprise. It fulfilled a certain subconscious desire to care for other beings, to protect something weak and defenseless, something not yet fully grown, to act as a mother would--yet its inevitable failure to completely fill that void also made things worse, made that subtle emptiness more noticeable than ever before, reminded her of what she could never have.

As she stared down into his still, peaceful face, Konan couldn't help seeing something of her younger self in him. Here was another child who was as alone as she'd once been--even more so, actually, since she'd had Yahiko and Nagato at her side. She'd read Itachi's and Sasori's mission reports; Deidara had been forced to join the Akatsuki, had been torn away from his homeland, from his family, from everything safe and familiar, and even if a part of him had wanted to join to give him another chance at beating Itachi and assuaging his wounded pride, he hadn't really had any choice in the matter. She knew what that felt like.

She also knew that they would never (could never) be very close--their profession in general and their status as terrorists in particular prevented them from the luxury of maintaining warm, personal relationships with anyone--but she would still do what little she could for him.

For her own sake as much as his, because this was as close to having a child of her own as she was ever going to get.

* * *

Konan & Deidara – I'll watch over you like the child I'll never have; you'll turn your back on me like the mother you lost; but even that is trust of a sort.


End file.
